He is not
my fawn colored nanny
nor my ever patient friend.
He cannot play the same games
or know my favorite seat.
He did not grow up with me
and does not know her tricks.
He will never be her,
Maggie was just once,
but he is Edgar.

He is dark and lovely,
looking scarier than he is.
He is sorrowful and pained,
melancholy of his namesake.
He rests against me,
somehow hurting too.
I close my eyes and
hug him tight,
he is not Maggie,
but he is Edgar.